10 Inspiring Travel Poems

Searching for the best poems about adventure and travel? We created this list featuring the best travel poems so that you can find the inspiration you’re looking for. These poems about travel are specifically written for travelers.

Without further ado, let’s take a look at these unique poems for travelers.

amazing travel poems

If Once You Have Slept On An Island 


If once you have slept on an island 

You’ll never be quite the same; 

You may look as you looked the day before 

And go by the same old name, 


You may bustle about in street and shop; 

You may sit at home and sew, 

But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls 

Wherever your feet may go. 


You may chat with the neighbors of this and that 

And close to your fire keep, 

But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell 

And tides beat through your sleep. 


Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how 

Such change upon you came, 

But – once you have slept on an island

You’ll never be quite the same! 


Rachel Field 

The Road Not Taken 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost


Half across the world from me

Lie the lands I’ll never see-

I, whose longing lives and dies

Where a ship has sailed away;

I, that never close my eyes

But to look upon Cathay.

Things I may not know nor tell

Wait, where older waters swell;

Ways that flowered at Sappho’s tread,

Winds that sighed in Homer’s strings,

Vibrant with the singing dead,

Golden with the dust of wings.

Under deeper skies than mine,

Quiet valleys dip and shine.

Where their tender grasses heal

Ancient scars of trench and tomb

I shall never walk: nor kneel

Where the bones of poets bloom.

If I seek a lovelier part,

Where I travel goes my heart;

Where I stray my thought must go;

With me wanders my desire.

Best to sit and watch the snow,

Turn the lock, and poke the fire.

Dorothy Parker

The Opportune Moment

When you go ashore in that town,

take neither a camera nor a notebook.

However many photographs you upload

of that street, the smell of almond paste

will be missing; the harbour will not sound

of wind slapping on chains. You will read

notes like “Sami church”, later, and know

you saw nothing, never put it where

you could find it again, were never

really there. When you go ashore

in the small port with the rusty trawlers,

there will be fur hawkers who all look

like Genghis Khan on a market stall,

crumbling pavements, roses frozen in bud,

an altar with wool hangings, vessels

like canal ware, a Madonna

with a Russian doll face. When you go

ashore, take nothing but the knowledge

that where you are, you never will be again.

Sheenagh Pugh

I Want A Life Measured

I want a life measured

in first steps on foreign soils

and deep breaths

in brand new seas.

I want a life measured

in Welcome Signs,

each stamped

with a different name,

borders marked with metal and paint.

Show me the streets

that don’t know the music

of my meandering feet,

and I will play their song

upon them.

Perfume me please

in the smells of far away,

I will never wash my hair

if it promises to stay.

I want a life measured

in the places I haven’t gone,

short sleeps on long flights,

strange voices teaching me

new words to

describe the dawn.

Tyler Knott Gregson


Travel Poem (Untitled)

We’re all wayfaring travellers,

Trudging down our separate roads,

Hoping, wishing, praying,

Someone will come to share our load,

There’s sunburn on our shoulders,

And there are blisters on our feet,

We brave the wildest blizzards, 

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And the scorching summer heat,

Sometimes we find somebody,

Who is going our way too,

And while they walk beside us,

The sky seems a bit more blue,

But all roads twist and turn,

And when you reach an intersection,

It’s likely life will take them,

In the opposite direction,

But don’t give up on hoping,

When your road is a dead end,

It’s likely that you’ll find,

It’s only really just a bend,

And though the other’s roads are different,

It doesn’t mean that yours is wrong,

So pick yourself back up again,

And just keep trudging on.

Erin Hansen

The Far North

I often wonder of the Tundra, 

as I watch the plains go by.

Or I’ll dream of higher mountains

that almost seem to pierce the sky.

I yearn for vaster spaces

and for roaring, winding rivers.

Or of breezes rolling forward

that leave forests full of shivers.

I hear the voice of comfort

say I shouldn’t go alone

yet I’m pulled by tugs from elsewhere

that may someday be my home.

Jesse Humman

Questions Of Travel

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams

hurry too rapidly down to the sea,

and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops

makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,

turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.

–For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,

aren’t waterfalls yet,

in a quick age or so, as ages go here,

they probably will be.

But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,

the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,

slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home.

Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?

Where should we be today?

Is it right to be watching strangers in a play

in this strangest of theatres?

What childishness is it that while there’s a breath of life

in our bodies, we are determined to rush

to see the sun the other way around?

The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?

To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,

inexplicable and impenetrable,

at any view,

instantly seen and always, always delightful?

Oh, must we dream our dreams

and have them, too?

And have we room

for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

Elizabeth Bishop


I should like to rise and go

Where the golden apples grow;–

Where below another sky

Parrot islands anchored lie,

And, watched by cockatoos and goats,

Lonely Crusoes building boats;–

Where in sunshine reaching out

Eastern cities, miles about,

Are with mosque and minaret

Among sandy gardens set,

And the rich goods from near and far

Hang for sale in the bazaar;–

Where the Great Wall round China goes,

And on one side the desert blows,

And with the voice and bell and drum,

Cities on the other hum;–

Where are forests hot as fire,

Wide as England, tall as a spire,

Full of apes and cocoa-nuts

And the negro hunters’ huts;–

Where the knotty crocodile

Lies and blinks in the Nile,

And the red flamingo flies

Hunting fish before his eyes;–

Where in jungles near and far,

Man-devouring tigers are,

Lying close and giving ear

Lest the hunt be drawing near,

Or a comer-by be seen

Swinging in the palanquin;–

Where among the desert sands

Some deserted city stands,

All its children, sweep and prince,

Grown to manhood ages since,

Not a foot in street or house,

Not a stir of child or mouse,

And when kindly falls the night,

In all the town no spark of light.

There I’ll come when I’m a man

With a camel caravan;

Light a fire in the gloom

Of some dusty dining-room;

See the pictures on the walls,

Heroes fights and festivals;

And in a corner find the toys

Of the old Egyptian boys.

Robert Louis Stevenson

Riding Alone For Thousands Of Miles

In Lijiang, the sign outside your hostel

glares: Ride alone, ride alone, ride

alone – it taunts you for the mileage

of your solitude, must be past

thousands, for you rode this plane

alone, this train alone, you’ll ride

this bus alone well into the summer night,

well into the next hamlet, town,

city, the next century, as the trees twitch

and the clouds wane and the tides

quiver and the galaxies tilt and the sun

spins us another lonely cycle, you’ll

wonder if this compass will ever change.

The sun doesn’t need more heat,

so why should you? The trees don’t need

to be close, so why should you?

Sally Wen Mao

travel poems to inspire

Final Thoughts On Travel Poems

These poems for travelers are powerful and inspiring. We hope you enjoyed our list featuring the best adventure poems. Looking for more inspiration? Take a look at this list of travel expressions.

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